We Are For Each Other
by BlackBerry88
Summary: It has been five years since Bella Swan has last seen her college professor, Edward Cullen. Years of unrequited love has left her inside a bitter and helpless shell. When they meet again, she is not prepared to revisit the past.Slight angst. ExB. AH
1. Part One

**Summary**: It has been five years since Bella Swan has last seen her college professor, Edward Cullen. Years of unrequited love has left her inside a bitter and helpless shell. When she bumps into him at a mutual friend's gathering, Bella is not prepared to face the feelings she thought she had left behind. ExB. AH.

**We Are For Each Other**

**By BlackBerry88**

**

It has been five years since she has last seen him. And he looks exactly the same. She realises this as she is trying to navigate her way through the small crowd. Tonight her friends have gathered for the opening of Dwayne's art exhibition. He is a friend she met through work years ago, but she is bewildered.

What the heck was _he_ doing here?

To her left friends chatter loudly over a stunning piece. To her right, her friend Amanda is drunkenly trying to grope mutual friend Drew. Dazedly, she knows she should probably warn Amanda, But she cannot take her eyes off him. It is the same messy bronze hair. Those same broad shoulders. And as he raises that champagne flute to his lips, with a tingle in her belly, she is reminded of those lips. Oh, those _lips_.

Is it warm in here? It feels warm.

She is scurrying for the entrance of the building, when an old lecturer spots her. He greets her with enthusiasm, drawing her in for a hug that lasts slightly too long. She smells alcohol on his breath, and cringes inwardly as his hands attempt to hold on to her bare shoulders. She smiles, laughs, and deftly manoeuvres away from his embrace, this time making a beeline for the front door.

Not for the first time tonight, she questions her own presence here. She hasn't ventured into a social setting in months.

She watches him from the window. The glows of the harsh fluorescent lights have no effect on his beauty. His back is to her, but she notes his impeccable dress sense. He is always perfectly put together. It is perhaps what attracted her to him. Crisp shirt, perfectly creased pants. She swallows hard and closes her eyes.

She thinks about leaving. Dwayne would kill her.

She hears the door open and close, but she is too tired to open her eyes. Let them think whatever they want. For a moment she craves a cigarette. She should have gotten over him a long time ago. She should have been living her life.

"Isabella?"

Her eyes fly open. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Shit.

It's him. And he is perfect. His apple green eyes send warm shivers down her spine, and she feels her body tremble.

Traitor body.

She doesn't think to correct him when he calls her Isabella. She's always loved the way her name rolls off his tongue.

"Edward! What are you doing here?" Her voice is controlled, much to her surprise. She plasters on a smile and moves towards him, attempting a casual demeanour.

"I'm here for the opening!" He sounds surprised. He moves closer, and she isn't prepared when he rests a hand on her waist and presses a warm kiss to her cheek in greeting. His palm burns through the thin fabric of her knit dress. Her skin tingles where his stubble meets her cheek.

_Oh._

She barely has time to recover when he steps back to survey her. "So how do you know Dwayne? This is crazy, us meeting here like this"

She feels the blood creeping up her cheeks. He is closer than ever, and she can smell him now. He smells warm, masculine, and spicy. Cinnamon and coffee. Honey and peppermint. She wants to bury her face in his neck and inhale deeply, she wants to remember this. Remember what ever part she can have.

He is looking at her now. Waiting for her to reply. Oh.

She smiles. _Act normal_, she tells herself. It is a constant reminder these days.

"Dwayne and I worked together. We just have a few mutual friends," she gestures with her hand towards the inside of the building. A sharp giggle and a sudden movement causes her to see Amanda and Drew leaving together out of the corner of her eye. She's ignoring her responsibility to her friend, but a quick glance towards the stunning man in front of her causes those thoughts to fly from her mind

"What about you? I didn't peg this to be your scene". She wonders if she's out of line in saying this, but the small warehouses is filled with artists, alternative musicians and on the whole, complete weirdos.

He laughs, and she works to commit the sound to memory. He shakes his head.

"Dwayne is actually an old student of mine. He emailed me a couple of years ago. He was looking to open a gallery, and he asked for some assistance. Wanted to know if I could help out with networking, that sort of thing". He eases back and leans against the brick wall, mirroring her position.

"Oh," She replies. Well the little shit. She couldn't remember how many times she had turned up to Dwayne's apartment, drunk, in tears, madly raving about perfect Professor Cullen. Dwayne had some serious explaining to do.

"Looks like everything worked out perfectly," She smiles at him. He has always been generous with his time and knowledge. She doesn't know why he is so kind. He always has been.

"Dwayne is a very talented artist. It is a wonder that he wasn't scouted sooner," He nods towards the eccentric ball of energy that is Dwayne back inside the main building. He is as always, surrounded by people. Whether they are afraid or entranced, she can never tell.

"Dwayne mentioned you're still at Little Brown. I'm impressed. A copy editor at your age is something to be proud of," He is facing her now and she can feel the heat radiating from him on her arm. She has also failed to notice up until this point the icy Autumn wind, that is sweeping through the dark alleyway. She shivers from the bitter cold, and the promise of a cruel and unforgiving winter that is left behind.

She will quite seriously considering how to kill Dwayne. Strangulation? Asphyxiation?

She is nervous in his presence. He intimidates her, and she hates the fact that he brings out her insecurities. That same need to prove herself. Suddenly she's that same nervous, self doubting, over emotional girl.

And she hates it.

"I started there about 2 years ago." She looks up, into his eyes, "You've trained me well for editing, Professor Cullen," she jokes.

He laughs again and she is thrilled. She silently congratulates herself on seeing his face light up, his eyes warming.

"I should hope so," He smiles and gazes back through the window into the warehouse.

Heart sinking, she wonders if he brought someone else tonight. She had caught him talking with an overly affectionate blonde. She scans his fingers for signs of a ring and relaxes (much to her disgust) when she finds nothing.

He turns back towards her and his face is slightly more serious. "What are you doing out here anyway? There's a party inside. And it's bloody freezing"

She laughs, a little hysterically. Yes the cold is seeping through her skin now. Looking down she catches goose bumps as they dance on her arms. Her voice is slightly shaky when she answers.

"I just needed a bit of air. It was a bit stuffy inside"

He seems to be trying to determine what she means. Well, let him wonder. She's not sure what she means either.

"Would you like to head back inside? It's probably a bit more bearable," He smiles, and his eyes are beckoning, and she wants so badly to follow him inside, she would have followed him anywhere. She is even tempted to splash some enthusiasm across her face, and endeavour to enjoy herself.

In this moment she feels exhausted. Drained from this evening, drained from memories of the past. She is not the same girl she was back then. She hasn't been for years.

She doesn't have it in her to pretend anymore.

"Actually, I'm just about to head home. Can't seem to stay up as much as I used to," she jokes, but it is the truth. Does he seem disappointed? She can't tell.

Wishful thinking.

"Oh, are you waiting for a cab?" he questions, moving closer to her again.

She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest as a wind sweeps harsh through the street, stirring leaves and paper that settle gently at her feet, along with her hopes.

"No, I was just going to walk, I'm just a few blocks away."

He is confused. "In this weather? At one o'clock in the morning?"

She swiftly brushes him off. "I'll be fine. I do it all the time"

He is incredulous. "A young woman, in this city, at this time of night? You must be insane."

She laughs a short laugh at that. Oh, how right you are, Professor Cullen.

"I'll walk with you," he offers, and he is removing his jacket as she watches. It looks expensive, she can't help but notice. His taste has always been of quality.

She opens her mouth to object, but snaps it shut when he moves closer and wraps his jacket around her shivering frame. He pulls the lapels together and she can't help staring at his mouth, the working of his smooth throat. The promise of warmth spreads through her chest, and she hugs the jacket closer on her own accord.

"Thank you," she says simply. He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets and begins walking. She stumbles a little as she hurries to follow him, cursing herself for wearing heels. She hadn't planned to walk; Amanda and she had shared a cab.

They are silent, and she hurries to fill the void with conversation. Her time with him is always limited, and even now, she doesn't want to waste it.

"What did you think of the exhibition?"

He is eager to answer, and before long they are exchanging opinions and jokes, insights and emotions. She shares anecdotes from college, work, and in exchange he tells her about his current students, his life. She greedily stores away every word, every smile, every gesture. She tells him stories of the class that they shared, and he is surprised to learn personal backgrounds of the students he didn't get to know. He laughs when she tells him that the class joker ended up becoming an English Teacher in a local highschool. He is surprised when best friends Lisa and Joel started dating and his face softens when she informs him that they were married last year. He asks her if she's dating anyone and for a second, she is startled.

Make someone up and gauge his reaction? Or be honest, and potentially make herself look like a bigger fool?

She decides to go with the latter and he doesn't pursue the subject any further. She could blame it on her exhaustion, or slight delirium from being in his presence, but she blurts out, "Are you married yet?"

He glances up at her and laughs. His laugh is soft, and remorseful. It swirls around them, making her heart heavier than it was. He shakes his head, "No," he replies, catching her eye and then looking straight ahead towards the city skyline.

She wants so badly to ask why. What's happened? Did you date someone? Did she not see how perfect you are? She wants to know. The questions hang between them like pieces of lead, heavy and dense. She looks up and realises with a start that they are almost at her apartment complex. She hugs herself a little tighter in his jacket, before she eventually has to let it go. He is still silent, too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice that she hasn't replied to him yet.

She stops in front of her building and he pauses with a surprised glance towards the reception area.

"Oh, we're here?" He asks, his hand lightly brushing through his hair. She is entranced by the motion. She has dreamed of running her fingers through his silken strands and she is clenching his jacket in an effort to control herself.

She nods. "This is me," gesturing up to the charming exterior of her European designed building.

His smile is _so_ warm as he is watching her. She can feel it liquifying her insides into a little pool at the bottom of her stomach. "I guess this is it then. It has certainly been a pleasure to catch up with you."

She blurts it out before common sense tells her to stop. "Would you like to come in? For a cup of tea? I should thank you for protecting me from the cold," she explains, gesturing meaningfully towards his jacket. "And other things," she adds hastily.

He laughs, and she is so proud of herself for making him laugh so many times in one night. His eyes light up, and his face transforms when he laughs and he surveys her for a moment.

"Sure. Yes. I mean," He stumbles on his words. "Yes, I'd love to"

She is thrilled, and turns to lead the way into her building. As he follows, new fear and trepidation sets in. No, she's not too sure about what she's doing. She settles it on the four glasses of champagne that she's consumed tonight. They are silent in the elevator, and she fumbles through her purse for her keys, eager to embrace the warmth of the apartment.

She opens the door and flicks on the lights, illuminating her modest, yet comfortable flat. She loves her home. It is her safe haven.

"You live by yourself?" he questions, as he moves in behind her, shutting the door in an effort to keep the cold out.

She nods, setting her purse down, and with some reluctance, removes his jacket.

"Thank you for the jacket, really," she smiles at him and feels her heart pound as he begins to gravitate towards the bookshelf in her living room.

"It's okay," he calls out, "I'm glad it was of some use"

She is surprised by the lack of awkwardness between them, it is almost as if he belongs in her part of the world. She cleans away discarded manuscripts that clutter her counter in an attempt to tidy, and then moves to put some water in the kettle.

"You have quite the Jane Austen collection in here," his voice carries over the whistle of the kettle.

She yawns involuntarily and hurries to cover it up as he walks back towards her kitchen. She is absolutely exhausted from tonight, and really, she has no idea what the hell she is doing inviting her former English professor (whom she has been in love with her entire life) into her house at two o'clock in the morning. He seems to be watching her again. She blushes, nervous, and replies to his earlier statement.

"What can I say? Jane Austen was a brilliant woman. I learn something new every time I open one of her books," she says softly, not pretending to hide her fatigue.

"You look absolutely worn out, Isabella" he notes, retrieving the milk from her fridge and helps himself to sugar from the counter.

"It's been a long week," she agrees, and she is struck by the concern that is on his face. She doesn't explain that it has been a long month. A long year. From somewhere within her, a small yearning of hope begins to fight its way to the surface. She shrugs it off and replaces her smile, carrying their cups into the living room. She relaxes against the sofa, admiring the way his body fits easily into her furniture. She leans down and slips off her heels, massaging her feet softly, before tucking her legs under her body.

He is watching her as she does this, but does not say a word. Instead, he asks about family pictures that are littered throughout the walls of her apartment. She tells him family stories, anecdotes about holidays, her relationship with her eccentric mother. He listens, laughs in the right places, and they continue to talk for hours, conversation eventually turning to books.

It is not until four o'clock that she realises she is desperately fighting to stay awake. Their tea cups lay forgotten on her coffee table, light brown stains circling the rims, where their lips had once been. She turns to him with heavy eyes, her head laid back against the couch and sees that his eyes are closed and he has a soft smile on his face.

"I should go, "he murmurs, and turns his head towards her, bringing their noses almost in contact.

She sighs, and closes her eyes, and it may be just her fatigue talking but she protests.

"Don't go," she whispers, her words tumbling softly from her mouth. They are plain and honest, and she regrets them. She is disappointed in herself.

He is facing her, looking at her. She can feel his eyes on her.

"Why not?" he whispers back, and he shifts closer in an effort to better hear her reply.

She laughs and replies without opening her eyes. Oh, what the hell. She's already dug herself the grave. Might as well lie in it.

"Because I don't want you to"

He is silent and very softly, she feels his fingers trace a strand of hair that has fallen across her cheek. He gently tucks the hair behind her ear, his knuckles tracing her cheekbone, grazing her earlobe.

No, no, no, she wants to scream. Don't do this to me. I won't be able to survive if you walk away from me.

She's protected herself from this. This is exactly what she feared.

She exhales softly and opens her eyes to him. His eyes are bright, even in the moonlight streaming in through the open window. His face is a mixture of concern, determination, and most of all, peace.

"Ask me to stay," he says hoarsely, dropping his hand to the couch between them. "And I'll stay"

She is only too happy to oblige. "Stay," she murmurs, her fingers feeling for his palm, and then grasping it within her own hands. "Please. Stay"

His hand is warm and firm, and he rubs her palm against hers. She revels in the feeling of his skin, before wondering if she is having an out of body experience. It could very well explain her word vomit.

"You need to sleep Bella, I've kept you up for too long," he says, using his other hand to brush some more hair from my face. Her heart contracts. Vaguely, she registers the use of her name and hears the personal caress behind it.

Before she can form a coherent reply, she feels his weight shift on the couch, and suddenly he has scooped her up in his arms, his hands moving her body to mould against his. Her breath catches with the sudden motion, but before she can protest, her face comes into contact with his neck.

"Oh," she gasps softly, her head swimming with the intensity of his scent. She leans in closer, burrowing closer to his chest, and nuzzles his neck, too tired to realise what she is doing.

He exhales sharply, and she distantly feels his hand clenching her bare leg.

"Bedroom, Bella?" he asks, already making his way down the darkened hallway.

She is too tired to make a joke laced with sexual innuendo and barely whispers her reply.

"Down the hall, second door on the left". She leans in closer to his neck, not noticing her lips brush against his skin. She wonders how much of this she'll remember in the morning.

She feels herself being dropped into a cold mattress and her eyes fly open with the loss of heat and contact. The abrupt motion is enough to alert her somewhat. He is leaning over her, one arm resting on her bed. She cannot look at his gaze. It is too intense for her muddled brain to figure out so she skims her fingers along his bare forearm and reminds him of their earlier conversation.

"You promised you'd stay," she tries to tug him down onto the bed, fingers twisting in his crisp, oxford shirt.

He is surprised, and falls onto her body, awkwardly landing on top of her. He laughs uncomfortably, and she tries not to notice that she can feel every line of his muscles through her thin dress. Her bare legs are tangled with his, and when she tries to move, she is flattened further by his warm weight.

They both laugh breathlessly, and he moves away from her face, his body resting on his forearms on either side of her. She turns her head to catch his eye, and he falls back, slightly on his side, leaving their legs tangled.

"I'll stay, Bella," He promises, and she wonders if she's imagining the gentle ghost of his touch on her face, in her hair.

She smiles, and he leans over and brushes back the hair stuck to her lip. The feeling sends a shock through her, and she turns to face him, willing her eyes to stay open.

"Never leave," she commands, before she leans over and presses her mouth against his.

His hands are warm as they grasp her waist, bleeding through the fabric of her dress, but it is his mouth that unravels her. He is soft, and warm, and sweet. His moves in sync with her, and she has little time to react as he rolls over her and pins her body down with his. He pulls away, breathless, watching for signs for protest, but she smiles, a little shakily, before she wiggles underneath him and pulls his head back down.

His mouth is furious against hers, and oh, _oh_, she is melting. Her veins are on fire, and her heart is furiously dissolving within her like wax. His tongue brushes against hers and she lets out an audible moan before mentally slapping herself. His fingers are creeping along her thigh, and she is stretching her legs to allow his body to fit between hers. He pulls away, gasping for air and presses his forehead against hers.

"I don't know how to control myself around you," he whispers, his fingers brushing over her slightly swollen lips.

She smiles at him, bring her hand up to press against his heart, noticing the pounding is in identical rhythm to hers. His top buttons are undone and she pushes her hand inside to press against his perfect flesh. He sucks in a breath of air as her fingers travel over his collarbone, past the mole on his neck to lazily scratch at the base of his neck. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall onto her chest as she scrapes her nails against his scalp. He lets out a contented noise from the back of his throat, and she smiles in satisfaction, happy to bring him some sort of pleasure.

She ignores the voice that is warning her. She ignores the memories of the pillows that comforted her when she cried over him.

She doesn't want to listen anymore. She is beginning to think that this moment is worth every single tear she cried. She would do it all over again for him, if only for a moment.

They lay there like that, hearts calming, breath slowing, before he looks up at her and possibly notices she is almost asleep.

"Shit, Bella, I'm so sorry," He whispers, rolling away from her and when she whines in protest, he moves her body into the contours of his chest, running a hand through her tangled locks, brushing whispers down her back. She sighs and slides an arm around him, anchoring her to him, leaning closer towards his neck.

He pulls her comforter around them, and she is happily sinking into peaceful oblivion as he keeps running his hands over her, framing her body and relaxing her. She is too tired to deconstruct the meanings of tonight's events to him and she is almost unconscious before she reminds him of one more thing.

"I want you here in the morning," she mumbles, and does not hear his reply, because she has already fallen into an exhausted sleep.

**

**A/N**: Thank you for reading! This Part One of Three, to be continued soon. Please excuse errors, this is my first piece of fiction and I don't have a beta. Leave me a review, any feedback at all would be so greatly appreciated!

BlackBerry88


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. Twilight belongs to SMeyer, all poetry belongs to Pablo Neruda.

**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews off the last chapter! I hope that this second part is able to clear up a bit more of Edward and Bella's story.

**We are For Each Other**

**Part Two**

**

It's 10:59. And he wakes with a start to realise that he has not at all been listening to the willowy blonde sitting opposite him. He scrambles to plaster an interested smile across his face whilst taking a nonchalant sip of his drink. He is relieved when she doesn't notice, and continues with a hilarious Christmas story about her sister's cousin's best friend's uncle's twin toddlers and that time they threw cake all over the kitchen.

He shouldn't be here.

Even if his date is charming and relatively attractive. So far, he is somewhat impressed. She is intelligent, witty, and successful. She owns a house, and currently has a small business which keeps her hands full. But, she adds with a sly grin, she can always make room for attractive men.

Cue forced laughter and awkward silence.

It's not that he isn't attracted to her. In all honesty, she is a girl that he could take home to meet his mother with no second thoughts. His parents would be thrilled, his sister would adore her, and his brother could finally lay the homosexual jokes to rest.

And even as he is thinking this, he knows that he won't call her again. Clichéd as it is, there is no spark between them. She is a beautiful woman, and he sees the men who are glancing in their direction. Despite their conversation being consistent and engaging during the course of the night, and he sees that familiar glimmer of determination in her eye. She wants that second date and she will most likely do anything to get it, even if it means tricking him into it.

The thought makes him want to rip his hair out.

His mother worries because he has been single for most of his adult life. It could be the desperate need for grandchildren talking, but there have been many, many set up dates like these, all in the possible hope of him finally finding a woman that will hold his attention.

He's never told his mother that there has only even been one woman. He doesn't want to admit that he was too much of a coward to pursue things with her, and he has wasted many nights hating himself for it.

He doesn't want to think about her tonight. He shouldn't be thinking about her.

Their table is littered with littered with empty wine glasses and discarded napkins and he is subtly trying to get the attention of the waiter. Around them, the music has softened considerably, lulling into an easy melody that is atmospheric for the restaurant. Couples are loitering on the dance floor, while others sneak out into the cool night to continue what has started here.

All he wants to do is leave, despite the fact that he is due to be at a former student's art exhibition. Tanya had been excited when he'd mentioned it, offering to accompany him. He had hesitantly agreed, and when she had suggested a restaurant and a live jazz band, the plans were set. He had been apprehensive, but the look of hope on his mother's face had been his undoing. He planned to go with an open mind, and no expectations.

He shouldn't write her off, not just yet. The night is still young, and things could change.

The waiter finally arrives with the bill, and he slips his MasterCard into the leather binder before handing it back. Tanya watches him with speculative eyes but smiles when he meets her eyes.

"We should probably get going if we're still going to make it to the gallery," he hints, pushing back from the table and preparing to stand. He wonders if the brief look of annoyance on her face is because he has paid for their dinner. He has dated a few women who have bristled at the notion, and furiously demanded to pay their share. It's not that he enjoys displaying gallantry; it's just that his mother raised him a certain way. And in her day, men took care of the women they were with.

As he escorts her out of the building, she links her arm with his and he can't help but stiffen at the contact. She smiles up at him, and he sees right through her calculated grin when she simpers, "Thank you for dinner. I'm having such a great time tonight".

He graciously murmurs, "You're welcome" before stepping outside into the brisk night. The street lights cast a dull glow onto the footpath, illuminating the dark greys of the shadows that lurk beneath them. Tanya is quick to hail a cab and he can only enjoy the weather for a moment before ducking into the warm interior of the car.

Tanya cosies up to him, touching her thigh to his, and he settles uncomfortably into the seat.

"This is so nice of you, going to all this effort for a student," she notes, watching the rush of the city pass by.

"He's a talented kid. I was happy to be of some help," He replies, not elaborating further. He is uneasy with the attention she is giving him now.

"No, really," she laughs. "If I called my college professors up today, asking for a leg up, they would probably tell me to stop wasting their time"

He laughs politely in response before moving his eyes to the scenery outside. He doesn't explain that his students were his lifeline. That it was _them_ who saved him. That it is a pleasure to be involved with adults who have a lifetime of potential in their minds. That it is _he_ who is honoured when they would come to him for help.

The cab ride is short, and within minutes they arrive at the rustic warehouse that Dwayne chose for the event. There is a small crowd gathered inside, where it seems a tipsy Dwayne is making an entertaining speech. Leaving their coats at the door, he follows Tanya inside, only to catch the last few lines.

"...to the gorgeous people who were able to help little Dwaynie find his way. No, seriously, this would have been a much harder road to travel if I didn't have friends by my side," Dwayne slurs the last part, adding a devious wink towards the perfectly groomed man standing beside him, an arm looped around his waist. The group chuckles quietly as Dwayne is now wiping at misty eyes.

"So as much as this night is about me, it's about you. Because without you all," he declares, raising his champagne glass, "this exhibition would not exist. And alas friends, neither would young Dwayne,"

Tanya chuckles beside him. "Oh my, he certainly is precious," she grins, raising her glass along with the others.

He smiles and raises his own glass. His face does not express the pride that is coursing through him at the moment. He has gotten to know this young man quite well over the past year, and to see him stand on his own feet and make a name for himself is a moment of quiet satisfaction.

It is, he realises, what a father would feel for a son.

He is pulled from his thoughts by fellow colleagues who rush to greet him. In between introducing Tanya, and catching up with old friends, his mood is significantly lifted. It is not until he's deep in conversation with a former colleague from Dartmouth about a new Literature program that he smells it. A distinct floral and fruity infusion.

He smells _her_.

Distracted, he scans the room. Tanya is laughing and talking to a close friend of his, Seth. The clatter of conversation buzzes louder in his ears as he spies a young woman standing in front of an abstract painting of a human heart. From the back, he swears it's her. Her hair is the same colour, perhaps a bit shorter. She is the same build, same pale skin. He stares at her, willing her to turn so he can confirm his hopes.

"Edward. Edward?" Eric is waving a hand in front of his face, attempting to get his attention.

Shaking his head, he moves his interest back to the conversation. A few minutes later, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. It is the same woman, now making her way for the entrance. Frustrated, he moves slightly trying to catch a glimpse of her face. She's stopped by a former lecturer, who moves to embrace her. She moves her face slightly to the right, nose wrinkling with distaste, and his heart drops into his feet.

It's her.

It has to be. He would recognise that face anywhere. He is trying to get a better view when Tanya approaches him and lays a hand on his arm. He is startled, and glances down at her in surprise.

"Edward? I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I have an early day tomorrow. Um," she pauses, pointing back to Seth who is waiting near the door, "your friend Seth offered to give me a ride home. Thanks for tonight, I really mean it"

His sudden realisation is that he is being let of the hook. He also acknowledges that he is neither angry nor annoyed.

He smiles, and she relaxes visibly when he isn't irritated.

"It was my pleasure, Tanya," he says, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek, and nodding at Seth who is now jiggling his car keys with impatience.

She does not offer to call him, or arrange a second meeting. And he is only too happy to let her go.

Eric is nowhere to be seen, and he quickly snaps his eyes back to where he'd seen _her_ moments ago.

Nothing.

Defeated, he moves through the crowd towards the front entrance. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him. Exhausted by tonight, he is ready to leave. He bids a quick goodbye and congratulations to Dwayne, who is now thoroughly incapacitated, and pushes open the door, eager for fresh air.

And that's when he sees her again. Isabella Swan.

She's leaning against a brick wall, and her eyes are closed. Under the pastel glow of the surrounding lights, she looks deathly pale, and her face is covered in a light sheen.

"Isabella?"

God. Those eyes. They have visited him in his sleep for the past few years.

Her face resembles a deer caught in headlights; however she is quick to compose her features into a neutral state, and smiles casually.

"Edward! What are you doing here?"

She has changed. Of course she has changed. She has grown into a striking young woman, but she is thinner than he remembers. As he comes closer, he sees the deep shadows beneath her eyes, the lack of colour in her cheeks.

"Well I'm here for the opening!" He replies, moving forward to press a gently kiss against her cheek in greeting.

Her skin is ice beneath his, and he wonders what the hell she's doing out here, possibly freezing to death in nothing but a thin dress. She is silent when he steps back to observe her.

"So, how do you know Dwayne? This is crazy, us meeting here like this," He says, wondering why she is so quiet. He is always happy to run into past students, but he wonders if he's being too forward, if she genuinely wants to be left alone.

She blushes, and for a moment, he is captivated by the colour that blooms in her cheeks. She's staring at him, and then glances at the ground before answering.

"Dwayne and I worked together. We just have a few mutual friends," she answers, not making eye contact with him.

Small world. He vaguely remembers Dwayne mentioning a Bella from work. And it hits him now.

His Bella. _Oh._

She seems to have regained her composure when she glances at him and asks, "What about you? I didn't peg this to be your scene"

He laughs at this, and watches her face change at the sound.

He shakes his head, "Dwayne is actually an old student of mine. He emailed me a couple of years ago. He was looking to open a gallery, and he asked for some assistance. Wanted to know if I could help out with networking, that sort of thing," he answers.

"Oh," she smiles and her face transforms. He feels a pang in his chest when her lips widen, and her eyes warm. Her beauty is breathtaking, even now.

"Looks like everything worked out perfectly", she says, glancing at the throng of people still inside.

He congratulates her on her job, a copy editor at her age is impressive. He knew she would go far. She is a brilliant woman, and her intelligence and perception is remarkable.

"You've trained me well for editing, Professor Cullen," She jokes. She's nervous again, and he's reminded of the shy, clumsy girl who would sit in the front row of his class and her incessant questions.

For the first time tonight, he genuinely laughs. His standards are well known by his students. He had caught many students complaining about the workload and his harsh marking. He was not always easy on Bella, forcing her to maintain a high standard of quality in her work. He knew she was capable of achieving better marks. That's why he pushed her, but she was not always thankful.

She is noticeably shivering now, and he wonders why she isn't inside spending time with her friends.

"What are you doing out here anyway? There's a party inside. And it's bloody freezing"

He voice has a noticeable shake in it when she answers, "I just needed some air. It was a bit stuffy inside"

Her words are layered with meaning, and it is difficult to decipher her tone. He wishes he could open her up, but he is not really sure where he stands. He thinks to offer her his coat, but instead he asks her if she would like to go back inside.

He is not expecting her reaction. Her face withdraws and she looks absolutely drained. When she looks up to reply, her eyes are fiercely resolute.

"Actually I was just about to head home. Can't stay up as much as I used to," she quips, trying to alleviate the sudden drop in her mood.

He doesn't want to leave her, not just yet. He has tried to put his feelings for her behind him, but she's here now, and she looks so frail and tired. He wants to press her body into his and offer her comfort and warmth. He doesn't know why she looks so weak, but he would do anything, _anything_ to change it.

When she informs him that she's planning to walk, his heart almost stops.

What? Hell no.

"In this city at this time of night? You must be insane"

She laughs sardonically and he can see that she will brush him off.

"I'll walk with you," he says firmly, leaving no room for her protests. Before she can complain, he removes his jacket and wraps it around her shoulders. She looks tiny in his jacket and he feels a surge of protectiveness as she hugs herself tighter in it.

"Thank you," she whispers, giving him a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

_Bella_, he wants to ask. _What's happened to you?_

Silently, they begin to walk. She is looking down, but he can't help but notice the pretty flush of her cheeks from the cold weather. Despite her earlier reluctance, she is quick to start a conversation, and before long, they have slipped back into the easy camaraderie that they have always shared. She fills him in on his past students, and he finds himself wanting to share details from his own life with her. She asks about his new students, the new curriculum at Dartmouth, why he returned to Seattle. He answers all her questions, not prepared for the warmth in his chest when she eagerly listens and demands more details.

It had always been like this between them. She was a student of only eighteen when he first met her, but her maturity and insight surpassed her years. It showed in her work and her attitude. And he had never, ever met anyone like her. He was always careful to keep a professional distance, but the more he'd stayed away, the more he had found himself drawn to her kind nature, her _goodness_.

It had started innocently. He was her professor, and she was a bright, young student, full of innocence and naivety. She was always happy to share her opinions and analysis, and he was mesmerized by the way her eyes would light up when she was excited, or the simple radiance of her smile when she achieved a solid mark. She emailed him frequently when exam time was near, always with queries or difficulties in deconstructing texts. He would reply, and then find himself desperately waiting for her answer. The subject never stayed the same, and their emails would regularly waver into slightly more personal conversation-into a book she was reading, into a weekend spent at his mother's house, a funny conversation with the bus driver.

He didn't want to admit it, but he was slowly, but surely, falling in love with a student.

The thought disgusted him, and he was furious with himself for letting it get that far. He managed to be cautious with her, and tried vigorously to remain vigilant in keeping a safe distance. She was never careful with boundaries though, always stopping by after class to compliment him on a lecture, or thanks for recommending a book. Her brown eyes held such warmth and purity and he would find himself watching her, memorizing the way her hands would move, or the way her hair would smell when she would brush his shoulder on her way out.

It was in second year when he overheard a certain Michael Newton planning to ask her out. Newton's friends had pushed him on, and he had walked away, enraged by the obscenities that the stupid child used to describe her. Bella never mentioned that date to him, and he was curious as hell to find out more, but respectfully allowed her to keep her privacy. When Mike showed up to class a couple of days later, sullen and morose, Edward had to work to keep the smile off his face. He knew she was smarter than that.

And so, it continued for another two years. He can remember a particular day when she walked into class after being absent for two weeks. She was quiet, withdrawn and her face was strained. She didn't participate in the discussion with her usual fervour and he was distracted, deciding to end the lecture early and asking her to stay behind. He asked about her whereabouts, ready to give her an earful about keeping up with coursework. She answered so quietly, he had to lean in to hear her properly.

"My dad had a heart attack," she had whispered, tears leaking silently out of her eyes. "He passed away last weekend"

He was stunned, horrified and had stood there like an idiot, while her shoulders shook and her head slumped as she wept softly in front of him. He fought with himself as his arms ached to pull her into him, and hold her so that he would absorb her pain. He wanted to wipe the tears from her cheeks, and press kisses on her eyelids, her lips, anything to make it easier for her.

Instead, he had grasped her arm gently, and leaned his head down to lock eyes with her.

"Isabella," he stated calmly, "I'm so sorry for your loss"

She had sniffled, her eyes puffy and red and given him a watery smile.

"I'm sorry Professor Cullen, I wasn't really expecting to be away for so long"

He had worked to swallow the lump in his throat before telling her to go home and get some rest. As she turned and walked wearily out of his classroom, he had gone to work organising extensions and extra revision so she wouldn't fall behind. He had emailed her some of the work she missed, ending the message with a reminder for her to take off as much time as she needed. Her reply was brief but undeniably sweet.

_Thanks, Professor Cullen. Thank you for being so kind and sending me the notes from the classes I missed. I really appreciate it. Thanks for your support._

When graduation day came, his heart was heavy. He was immensely proud of her for accomplishing one of the highest grades in the senior class. She had come to his office that morning, shy and happy, smiling as she handed him a wrapped package and a card. As she left, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, and had stared right at him with blushing cheeks and tender eyes.

"I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me, Professor Cullen. I couldn't have done this without you," she said quietly, and then just like that, she was gone.

Her card was beautiful, a sincere thanks for the years of assistance he had given her. Her package was a book of poetry by Chilean author Pablo Neruda. She had marked a page in the book, and he'd turned to a poem entitled _Your Laughter_, only to be stunned momentarily.

_My struggle is harsh and I come back  
with eyes tired  
at times from having seen  
the unchanging earth  
but when your laughter enters  
it rises to the sky  
seeking me  
and it opens for me  
all the doors of life_

He had held that book in his hands, heart pounding in his chest as he contemplated the choice that lay before him. She had her whole life ahead of her and he was a tired old man with nothing to offer. And so, he had done the most cowardice thing of all-he had shut her out of his life. She emailed him a few times over the years, and he had sent back kind but abrupt replies, until one day, she stopped completely.

He had never forgotten about her though. When she applied at a small publishing house in Seattle, he had written a recommendation letter, allowing her direct entry into her first full-time job. He managed to keep tabs on her through various connections but lives and families drew them down separate and distant paths.

He shakes himself out of the past, focussing his attention back into the present. They are, as always, dancing around the personal subjects, but the same boundary lines no longer exist. She is older now, he can see that she is not a young girl anymore. She finishes telling him about a wedding between two past students and he can't help but wondering if she is seeing anyone. There is no ring on her finger, but he has no idea who she may be involved with.

"What about you Isabella, are you dating anyone?" he asks calmly, while his heart thunders in his chest.

She is silent before she shakes her head no and says, "No, no I'm not"

He is secretly pleased, but her face is so sad that his satisfaction vanishes in an instant.

"Are you married yet?" she asks, her eyes wide with unabashed curiosity.

He laughs regretfully and murmurs, "No," and looks for her reaction. Her face is smooth and she nods, not trailing the conversation out any further.

_No, my Bella,_ he wants to explain, _every time I looked another woman, all I could see was you._

When they stop outside her building, he hasn't yet organized his emotions. He is not ready to say goodbye. So when she invites him in for a cup of tea, his heart races and he sounds like an idiot when he manages to stutter out, "Sure, yes. I mean, yes. I'd love to"

Her smile is brilliant and she leads him into the warmth of the foyer, and into the elevator. He follows her into the apartment, not quite believing that he is really here, and in this situation right now. Her flat is small, but there are distinct touches of classical art mixed with modern furniture. There are books scattered everywhere, along with manuscripts for various drafts.

"Do you live by yourself?" he asks, closing the door to the cold emptiness of the hallway.

She nods, and he is somewhat regretful when she removes his jacket and lays it on a chair. He stops to glance at a few photos mounted on the wall. Pictures of her laughing with an unfamiliar, dark haired boy. An older woman who looks just like her, embracing her, and one of an older man with a moustache and a stiff smile. She looks beautiful in each photograph, wide smile, expressive eyes that are never changing with age.

He moves down a corridor towards the bookshelf he spotted when he first walked in. She calls out a thanks for his jacket and he can hear her moving around in the kitchen. He raises his voice in reply, before turning to see a bookshelf filled with the entire works of Jane Austen, along with enough poetry to fill a house. When he returns to comment on her obsession, she hurries to cover a yawn before smiling brightly and pouring him a cup of tea.

He feels awful. She is obviously exhausted and he shouldn't be here, revisiting feelings that he forced himself to leave behind.

"You look absolutely worn out, Isabella," he observes, and he's worried about her.

She smiles and shrugs off his comment and carries their cups into the living room. He feels powerless in her presence. He doesn't know how he will bring himself to leave when the night ends.

"It's been a long week," is all she says in reply and he wants to ask her about it. _What happened? Why do you look like you haven't eaten in a month? Who's looking after you?_

He watches her relax into the soft couch, and slipping her heels off her feet and massaging them with her hands. It is such a simple and sensuous act, and he has to work to clear his head. Moving his attention to back to her face, he asks about the pictures on the wall. She tells him about her mother's unconventional parenting, family visits to the beach when she was younger. Life in rainy Forks. They discuss books, and he is delighted that she's read every single text that he recommended. Her mind is still just as sharp, and their conversation continues into the very early hours of the morning.

It is just past four a.m. when she pushes her head back into the sofa and looks at him, sleep weighing on her eyelids. Even at the end of this day, with her makeup rubbed off and her mouth drooping, she is still the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.

"I should go," he finally says, turning his face closer to hers. Her mouth is washed pale pink in the moonlight and he can't take his eyes off her.

"No," she whispers, leaning forward, her breath falling into his mouth. "Don't go"

His breath catches. His heart races with anticipation at the thought of a second chance after all these years.

"Why not?" he asks her, wishing for her to tell him, to be honest.

Her eyes flutter shut and she laughs softly to herself.

"Because I don't want you to"

Her words are simple and pierce straight through him. She hasn't opened her eyes, and he gently brushes a hand over her cheekbone, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear in order to see her face better. Her skin is of the softest cashmere, and he wants to touch her again, just to make sure that she is real.

She releases a small breath and her wide, chocolate eyes are searching his face. She looks terrified, and he mistakes her fear, thinking she is scared of him.

It takes him a moment to realize that she is scared of being rejected. Again.

"Ask me to stay, "he whispers, his voice hoarse with unshed emotion, "And I'll stay"

_Forever._

She smiles, reaching for his hand and gives him the answer that he is waiting for.

"Stay," she says, enveloping his palm between her soft hands, "Please, stay"

Her voice is heavy and her words are slurring slightly. She needs to sleep.

"You need to sleep Bella, I've kept you up for too long," he tells her, touching her face again.

She doesn't respond, giving him a sleepy smile. Before she can say another word, he stands and lifts her easily off the couch, swinging her into his arms. She is small and soft and he hears her gasp softly when her head rests against his neck. He is trying to concentrate, but all he can feel is her plum lips against his neck, the delicate brush of her hair against his cheek. When she snuggles closer to him, his fingers clench against her bare thigh, his body desperately reacting to her skin and scent.

She whispers a direction to the bedroom and he enters it, smiling at the muted and feminine touches of her private space. He drops her softly onto the mattress, and she stretches lazily on the bed, her dress riding up to reveal an expanse of pale, buttery skin. He watches her, entranced and isn't prepared when she grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him down on top of her. He falls on her awkwardly, his mind reeling from being this close to her.

"You promised you'd stay," she reminds him, her fingers tracing the muscles of his forearm. He can't think, can't speak when her skin makes contact with his.

She is everything he ever imagined.

He rolls away from her, keeping their legs tangled. She won't remember this in the morning, he's sure. He lies back and admires the way her hair tangles around her face, the smell of her pillows.

"I'll stay, Bella," he whispers back, reaching over to twine his hand in her hair. He wants to close his eyes and cherish this. He wants to cherish being able to touch her. When he lifts his eyes back to hers, she is watching him and there is little confusion in her eyes.

"Never leave," she orders, closing the gap between them, pressing her lips delicately against his.

The second her mouth touches his, all reasonable thought flees his mind. Her lips are warm and flush against his mouth and he pulls her closer, slipping his hand down her back to firmly anchor their bodies together. She responds excitedly, sliding her hand into his hair in an effort to bring him even closer.

He turns their bodies, pressing her beneath him, before pulling his mouth away as the need for air becomes too great. She is panting, flushed and her eyes are alight.

God, he has only ever dreamed of her like this.

He tenses when she wiggles underneath him, trying to get comfortable. Her frame moulds perfectly into his, and when she pulls his head back down, he steadies his hands on her waist before putting every regret, every lost moment and every memory of her into his kiss. She tastes distinctly sweet, and all he can smell is lavender and honey. His hands are travelling up her bare legs on their own accord, and then he presses deeper against her mouth, touching her tongue. She moans softly and it cuts the silence, snapping him back into reality.

He pulls away, gasping for air. If she is going to make noises like that, he's not sure how much more self restraint he'll be able to exercise. He rests his forehead against hers, touching her reddened lips. She is looking at him, waiting for him to continue.

"I don't know how to control myself around you," he confesses to her, ashamed for giving in to his instincts.

She does not say anything, only brings her hand up to press against his heart. It's thudding in his ears, and he's sure she can probably hear it. Slowly, she moves her hand through the open slit of his shirt, pressing her fingers against his flesh. He sucks in air as her fingernails glide over his skin and collarbone. His muscles are twitching in response to her movement and he closes his eyes in the soft pleasure of her hands coming to rest at the nape of his neck. Slowly, she begins scratching her nails over his scalp, her fingers twisting through his hair. He cannot help himself, and his head falls forward onto her chest, allowing the small trembles of bliss to run through his body.

Her breathing slows, and he notices when it is somewhat heavy and even. A quick glance up confirms that she is almost asleep, and he rolls off her, cursing himself for getting carried away and taking advantage of her fatigued state.

"Shit Bella, I'm so sorry," he whispers apologetically, moving away from her and drawing the comforter around her small form. She whinges quietly when he puts more distance between their bodies and he laughs at the endearing expression in her voice. He crushes her gently to his side, and she presses her face eagerly into his neck, her limbs splaying over his torso. He lets out a soft breath into her hair as she slips softly into sleep.

"I want you here in the morning," she mumbles into his skin, before finally letting sleep claim her.

He closes his eyes, revelling in the comfort of her body next to his. Even though he is exhausted, his mind is overwhelmed with the events that have unfolded tonight. There are many unanswered questions between the both of them, many things to be explained and discussed, but for now, he is content in watching her sleep, knowing she is peaceful.

He tries to get comfortable, but a hard ridge cuts into his shoulder blade. Feeling underneath an abandoned pillow, he pulls out a hardcover book, worn and frayed. It is open to a page, and smooths it, wanting to know what she's been reading. He skims over the words, and closes his eyes, praying for strength.

Tomorrow, he would tell her everything.

_Laugh at the night,  
at the day, at the moon,  
laugh at the twisted  
streets of the island,  
laugh at this clumsy  
boy who loves you,  
but when I open  
my eyes and close them,  
when my steps go,  
when my steps return,  
deny me bread, air,  
light, spring,  
but never your laughter  
for I would die._

**

**A/N**: Leave any thoughts, comments, likes, dislikes. I've noticed a few of you have this story on alert, and I would love any feedback from those that are reading this. Did it work, did it suck? Please, let me know, I'd love to chat :)

BlackBerry88


	3. Part Three

**Disclaimer**: Don't own this. SMeyer owns all.

**A/N**: Thank you for the lovely reviews, I'm sorry this has taken so long to put up. Exams and assignments always seem to get in the way. Read on!

**We are For Each Other**

**Part Three**

**

She's never told anyone this, but about a year after she graduated, she had gone back to Dartmouth. She had been visiting New Hampshire to tie up a few loose ends before finally moving to Seattle. The decision had been made on a whim, and she'd quickly given it no second thoughts and jumped into a cab.

She wasn't prepared for the wave of nostalgia that swept through her when she arrived at the campus. The perfectly manicured lawns and the rust of the fall leaves sparked memories of a time that had long passed. She had strolled through the hallways, enjoying the quiet bustle of students, and the echoes of lectures in the auditoriums. Walking through the hallway, she'd stopped and examined the student noticeboard, eagerly skimming the various posters for groups, social nights and sporting events.

With a soft sigh, she had turned to leave; disappointed that she hadn't seen him. It had not been her original intention to spy on him, but despite her previous hurt from his lack of communication, she had been hopeful, wishful even, that she would spot his unusual bronze hair, his tall frame around the grounds.

With a final glance around the hall, she had walked out of the building, not even noticing the salty streaks of the tears that slipped out of her eyes.

**

There is a sharp ray of sun burning through her window and she rolls over, trying to get away from the light. She shifts uncomfortably, her dress is wrapped around her at an odd angle. Pressing her face into her pillow, she groans, willing the sun to disappear. When this doesn't happen, she sighs with exasperation and finally rolls over and opens her eyes and squints through the sunny haze in her room.

Oh, God. Her head.

She closes her eyes again, ignoring the dull pounding behind her eyelids. It's too bright. Way too bright.

Another three minutes pass before she finally gathers the courage to leave her bed. Yawning loudly, she stumbles blindly out of her bed, feeling her way through her hallway and into the living room. She peers through the sunshine that has penetrated her living room, and then groans again when pain hits just behind her eyes.

She should probably like, never drink again.

Whimpering softly, she presses the heel of her palms into her eyeballs, putting pressure where the pain becomes too much. She collapses onto her couch without opening her eyes, and curls into her cushions, content to lie dormant for the rest of the day. She snuggles further into the couch; her cushions are warm and smell heavenly.

Something picks at her memory but she ignores it, concentrating on the throbbing in her head. She settles deeper into her sofa and is almost asleep again when she feels the cushion beneath her move, and something warm rake through her hair, tingling her scalp.

At first she relaxes and sighs, the gentle touch soothing against the sharp ache.

When her cushion moves again, it also speaks.

"Bella? Are you all right?"

Her eyes fly open in shock, and she shrieks in surprise, bolting upright and whipping her head around to catch the intruder in her house. Her heart races into a frenzy when she spots Edward Cullen sitting on her sofa, eyes wide in concern and surprise.

_Edward Cullen_. Sitting on _her_ sofa.

Her heart is pounding, _flying_, and her headache increases slightly in intensity.

He is still watching her, his eyes now patient, smiling softly at her. His hair is in disarray, and his white shirt is unbuttoned at the top, untucked. He looks relaxed, tired, day old stubble showing around his chin.

She gets up, moves away from him, still staring. He is still patiently waiting for her to speak.

The questions are coming in time to the throbbing in her head.

Why is he here? What happened last night? What can't she remember? Why does she feel ill all of a sudden?

With a soft cry, she covers her face with her hands and groans softly. What on earth is going on?

"Bella?" Edward's voice is anxious and she feels him move near to her, his hands grasp her upper arms gently. Her body responds to him, the warmth spreading over her skin.

She can't help it. Tears pool in her eyes. Her head hurts _so_ much. And she can't for the life of her figure out what her former professor is doing in her apartment, looking very much like he spent the night.

When she replies, her voice cracks hopelessly.

"Edward? What are you doing here?"

She can't bring herself to look at him, to even try and understand what is happening here.

She feels his hands stiffen around her arms.

"I'm sorry?" His voice is gravelly and low, and it confuses her even further because she doesn't understand the emotion in his voice.

She is so afraid to look up. She is afraid to look at him. Most of all, she's afraid of what she can't remember.

She wipes her face and pushes the hair back from her cheeks, and finally looks at him.

His face is controlled but his eyes are tight, his eyebrows drawn together. He lets go of her, pushing his hands into his pockets and smiling tensely.

"What are you doing here, in my apartment," she explains, wiping the moisture from her eyes.

He takes another step away from her, his face is smooth, unreadable.

"I took you home last night Bella, you were feeling ill. We ran into each other at Dwayne's?"

Oh._Oh._

Huh_._

He runs a harried hand through his hair and his smile doesn't reach his eyes.

"I just stayed to make sure you were fine, but I really have to get going" He retrieves his jacket from the floor and turns his body towards the doorway.

"Oh. Um," She is flustered, "thank you. That's so...kind of you. I'm sorry I didn't mean –"

"Bella," He holds up a hand to stop her. "It's fine. It was no trouble at all. I'm glad you're okay, but I really have to run"

He smiles at her now with genuine warmth and before she can even thank him again, or offer him coffee, he strides out of her apartment.

She watches him leave, and her heart sinks. Why did she just feel like she had done something really, _really_ stupid?

**

She spends the morning showering, cleaning her apartment, and drinking three cups of coffee. Due to her lack of sleep from the previous night, she is also extremely irritated and upset. She bursts into tears when her hot water runs out in the shower, and cries again when she breaks a vase that her mother gave her.

Her mind is working overtime, trying to fill gaps, and make sense of the morning's bewildering events, and it is making her even more exhausted, more emotional.

When her phone rings, it's eleven. She watches the small device vibrate in circles on the table. She is fearful. Is it Edward? A friend? Or even worse, her mother?

Sighing, she picks it up, and smiles when the caller ID reads Dwayne.

"Hello?" She breathes, the relief in her voice evident.

"Oh my lord. I am so hung over. And I think I just took enough Advil to knock out a baby rhino" Dwayne drawls.

She laughs. Closes her eyes. "Hey Dwayne"

"Yes, my beauty, it is I. How are you? You don't sound so good. God, are you hung over too? You bitch, I didn't know you had it in you!"

She laughs again and sighs.

"Dwayne, you would not believe the morning I've had. Or the night," Her voice is rising in octaves and she can feel the tears brimming to the surface.

"Oh, honey, no. Don't do that. Come down to that place near Jefferson. I'm on my way over now, we can get some java" Dwayne soothes.

She sniffles. Then smiles

"Okay"

**

It is warm and cheerful outside, and when she reaches the cafe, Dwayne is sitting at a table in the direct light of the sun. Even from a mile away, she could have spotted his fluro green jeans and his wild, cherry red hair. How they became so close, she could never explain, but she knows she has found truly sweet and genuine person in him. He is everything she isn't – bold, witty, creative and incredibly intelligent.

They formed an unlikely friendship, and have continued it for many years now.

"Shit, Old Lady Swan" Dwayne grins when she approaches their table, "You trying out a new Halloween costume?"

She is too tired to muster a witty reply and shoots him a sullen look as she takes a seat opposite him

"Oh God, I'm sorry. Seriously though, what's with the get up?" He gestures to her body and she looks down, realizing that she didn't actually take notice of the clothes that she'd thrown on in a daze.

She is wearing a navy blue dress that she'd bought for her mother and Phil's anniversary. It is simple, but a Halloween costume?

"I meant the hair, your eyes. Racoon eyes and anorexia was in circulation last fall, sweetheart. Have you even looked at yourself?"

She shakes her head, brushing off his criticisms. Yes, she looks like crap.

"Dwayne," she says, her tone suggesting that she isn't in the mood for this banter. "This morning, Professor Cullen was in my apartment"

Dwayne spits out the sip of coffee he has just taken and spends the next minute coughing and trying not to choke while she watches in silence.

"Oh, God, You're serious," Dwayne says, wiping his mouth and looking at her with renewed respect and fascination.

"Did you...you know. Hit that?" He asks calmly, taking another sip of his latte.

She stares at him in disbelief. "No Dwayne!" she half shrieks, causing nearby customers to stare. "I did not HIT that!"

He nods seriously, and waits for her to continue.

"That's the thing," she explains, looking down. "I don't know...what happened. He said I was sick last night and he took me home. And he stayed just in case it was serious. But...I don't know Dwayne, it just doesn't seem right. It feels...I feel all wrong"

Dwayne puts down his coffee, leans back and crosses his legs.

"This is the Professor Cullen you're in love with right? The same one you've been pining over?"

She nods miserably.

"Okay," Dwayne sighs, "I need to tell you something"

Her head shoots back up at his confession. Could he possibly hold her missing piece?

"Just don't...crucify me or anything. I did what I had to do"

The confusion must be clear on her face because he leans forward and begins to explain.

"I know Professor Cullen. Or Edward. He actually taught me. But like, years ago," Dwayne says warily, watching her for signs of hysteria.

She doesn't respond. This sounds vaguely familiar to her.

When she doesn't say anything, Dwayne continues, taking her silence as encouragement.

"And like, I knew who he was. Remember that time you got drunk and you cried all over my brand new Calvin? I remembered...and then I saw what it had done to you, sweetie. That's why I never brought it up"

_Dwayne emailed me a couple of years ago. He was looking to open a gallery, and he asked for some assistance. Wanted to know if I could help out with some contacts_

"You wanted help with gallery," she says slowly

"Yeah," Dwayne nods, "Wait. I didn't tell you that"

No. Edward did.

"Bella?" Dwayne is waving a hand in front of her.

"Oh my God, I think I remember" she says, closing her eyes.

_Dwayne is a very talented artist. It is a wonder that he wasn't scouted sooner._

_Dwayne mentioned you're still at Little Brown. I'm impressed. A copy editor at your age is something to be proud of._

"You met with him, Dwayne. You never told me. How could you do that?" She can feel the tears thick in her throat.

Dwayne has the grace to look ashamed.

"Honey, I'm so sorry. This guy has obviously done something to you. Why would I want to remind you about it?"

She feels the heat of a tear trail down her left cheek.

"Dwayne," she whispers, "I thought he was gone. I wasn't sure if he even existed anymore"

"Bells, I love you, but you needed help moving on. You should see the way you carry yourself, the way you walk," He gazed at her with pity.

"Honey, it's like you're trying to hold yourself together. I've never gotten the full story from you, only the drunken parts, but whatever he did...it killed you. You're so _affected_ by it"

She shakes her head again, as the memories are now coming thick and fast.

She looks up at Dwayne through the haze of tears that blur her eyes.

"I love him Dwayne. I love him. I could never stop. And I tried...I tried so hard," she sobs now, her voice shaking uncontrollably.

Dwayne reaches over and holds her hand.

"Honey," his own eyes are bright with unshed tears, "Whatever happened last night was important. And if he's here...and within your reach, you have to overcome your fear"

She is angry at herself. Angry at _him_. Angry at Dwayne for telling the truth.

She takes a shaky breath.

"I can't do this. I can't," She cries, closing her eyes and bowing her head.

"Bells, look at me," Dwayne commands, and offers her a smile when she raises her eyes to meet his.

"I'm not going to watch you fall apart over this guy again. Go and see him. You need to get this out of your system so you can truly move on. You deserve that. You can't spend the rest of your life-"

"Dwayne," She interrupts, her voice stronger now.

"Last night, I asked Edward to stay and I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have.."

"And he stayed?" Dwayne's features were incredulous

She nods. She is freaking out now.

"He stayed. And this morning, I asked him why he was here. And he shut down. I could see it in his eyes. I can't remember everything we said, but I saw it in his face"

Dwayne leans forward. "What are you afraid of sweetheart?" He presses her gently.

She wraps her arms around herself. She is afraid of everything.

"I'm afraid to believe that he really wants me. After everything that happened. How could he want me?"

Her friend smiles and even chuckles.

"You, Isabella Swan, are the most beautiful, kind hearted, intelligent, the most incredible woman I know. Honey, if you don't do this now, you know you won't ever come back to life".

She nods, willing herself to accept the truth in Dwayne's words.

She is holding on to them as a drowning person would a lifeline.

Dwayne gets up from his chair and walks around to her side, pulling her up by the shoulders. She is expecting him to punch her, or to psych her up in some way. Instead, he wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Be brave, Bells," Dwayne tells her.

**

That is how approximately two hours later, she finds herself standing outside of Edward's residence. She hadn't known what to expect, but she had been surprised by the contemporary townhouse. It is modest, and the lawn and surrounding garden is neat, clean. Her heart thuds in her ears. She cannot believe she is standing outside his home.

There is a silver Volvo parked in the driveway so she knows he's there.

She is trembling now. Taking a deep breath, she raises a shaky fist to the door and raps twice.

She waits.

Forty seconds pass and she raises her hand to knock again but the door disappears from under her fingers.

In its place, Edward's face appears, shocked, and then quickly composed into an expression of soft surprise.

"Bella, what are you doing here?"

His gentle eyes search her face, and in his simple grey t-shirt and jeans, he takes her breath away.

She wants to cry again, but raises her chin.

Be brave.

She wants to deliver a confident line. She wants to prove her maturity, her strength.

She opens her mouth to do this, and she is disappointed in what comes out.

"Edward, I remember. I remember last night"

He simply watches her for a moment, and she wonders what he is thinking. He does not seem surprised, or angry. He looks sad. His eyebrows pull together, but she thinks that he sees the desperation in her eyes.

"I'm sorry for this morning," she babbles, "I was just tired and-"

"Bella," he interrupts her gently. "Come in before you catch a cold"

She snaps her mouth shut and laughs at herself.

She is making herself out to be a bumbling fool.

He moves out of the doorway and holds the door open wider so that she can enter. She swallows hard and doesn't trust her legs as she follows him inside.

_Be brave, Bella._

_Be brave._

**

**A/N**: I'm so sorry for ending it there, but my eyes are about to explode from out of my head! I also again, apologize for the late update. It's hard trying to find a spare second to write. This chapter explores some pretty important issues for Bella, I'm also trying to fill in some blanks as the story progresses. I originally intended for it to be a three part story, but the characters keep telling me different parts of the story, so it will be extended. The next part will be in Edwards POV. Also, I'm considering writing an extended epilogue, so if you'd be interested in me continuing this fic, then please let me know.

As always, thank you for reading. I truly appreciate you taking the time to check this out. Leave a review, with any thoughts and opinions on how the story's progressing. As a writer, the most difficult part is believing that there is someone actually out there and reading..so, if you're out there and you like/dislike, then please let me know. I am genuinely interested in any critique of my writing.

BlackBerry88


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